The Nature of Predators

Memory transcription subject: Captain Kalsim, Krakotl Alliance Command

Date [standardized human time]: November 29, 2136

Total isolation was enough to drive any social creature to insanity. The humans deposited me in a musty cell, lacking any windows or light. There was nothing to occupy myself with besides tallying each meal on the wall with my talons. Seventy-five notches were carved into the stone, and I’d ran a wing over each one a hundred times.

My wing, which had been broken by the charming Doctor Zarn, was fully healed now. I screamed at the predators to take my cast off when they brought my last meal. To their credit, the monstrosities did take me to a ‘doctor’, whose dark pupils gleamed with disdain. Humans spoke empty words of a trial, but I knew that was mere posturing. The social hunters’ compassion was absent, when I was around.

Visual and auditory hallucinations plagued me, as sheer boredom set in. I had too much time to meditate on the bombing of Earth, and how Arjun might be hunting in the ruins of a city. My thoughts also drifted to what Manoj and the soldiers had done with Thyon, my first officer, in his injured state. The poor Farsul was probably rotting in a cell too, with no clue what had transpired during the battle.

One second, Thyon bumped his head on my ship. The next one, he woke up missing an arm, in the predators’ prison.

Despite the primal fear their appearance instilled, I relished when UN soldiers barged into the room. The predators would occasionally drag me to cells with bright lights and loud noises; the guards didn’t want to get their hands dirty. The worst action they took themselves was blasting me with frigid water from a hose, laughing as I ran from it.

If footage of them beating a prisoner came to light, it would reveal too much to their plaything allies. Drenching me in ice-water could be passed off as a beast’s bathing methods. At least when the predators indulged in sadistic fun, I felt something. Humans just didn’t understand how I tried to minimize their suffering; how I only made the necessary sacrifices for the greater good.

“GET UP AND COME WITH US! NOW!” The door creaked open, flooding my sensitive eyes with artificial light. “Move it, you fucking bird-brain! Do you think we have all day?”

A contingent of humans amassed in my cell. They yanked me to my feet, and pulled at the chain wrapped around my ankle. I stumbled along, straining to remember their redemptive attributes. The beasts were capable of rudimentary compassion; they were just angry about their cultural losses. Resisting their hunger around me likely increased their aggression.

“Cheer up, Chirpy. Today’s your lucky day,” a predator sneered. “You have a visitor.”

My beak parted with hope. “Arjun?”

The UN wardens gave me rough shoves down the corridor, herding me into a visiting area. The space was dusty from disuse, and each metal table was unoccupied. Humanity had no intent of allowing our families to get in touch; not that anyone from Nishtal was alive, in all likelihood. Sacrificing my own world was what truly haunted me, in those endless hours alone.

A group of Terran dignitaries escorted a Harchen into the area, and my heart sank with disappointment. A traitorous impulse wanted Arjun to check on me, to reassure me that he was still fighting his battle with hunger. I knew the predator kid would become cruel eventually, but I didn’t want him to devolve so young.

The Harchen visitor was carrying camera equipment, and wearing a badge with Terran scribbles on it. Oddly enough, the humans’ demeanor was mostly friendly, apart from their toothy snarls. The primates weren’t coercing the short reptile along; a black-haired man jabbered to her about restaurants in the area. I caught the words “Zurulian-Italian fusion” in the human’s sales pitch.

Why was this prey creature treated to such cordiality? Was she a traitor to her race?

The Harchen extended a paw to the chatty human, who grasped it in his own. “Listen Zhao, if I see something here that isn’t right, I’m going to report on it. I won’t hide the truth, just because it might hurt your organization.”

“We’d respect you less if you became a mouthpiece, Cilany,” the human answered. “There’s a reason the UN granted you citizenship. You gave us the people responsible for this mess.”

“Mr. Secretary-General, I simply believe that everyone has the right to self-determination. I’ll be watching what you do to Fahl closely. Serving us up to the Arxur was a cold move. Now, you’re occupying us.”

“You can thank the little birdie over there for that. We warned Kalsim, and he kept going…lied to his own people to convince them. He wanted to kill us, more than he wanted to defend his home. Actions have consequences.”

“I understand. Still, I hope that you don’t plan to gamble with civilian populaces in the future, Zhao.”

“Plan on it? No. But a hundred human lives are worth more than a hundred million aliens, in my book.”

Cilany narrowed her eyes. “That’s the kind of rhetoric that worries me. Let’s just get this interview finished.”

The Harchen’s yellow skin looked flaky around the neckline, which suggested she was about to shed. From what I’d overheard of her conversation, the humans had gained control of Fahl and its subsidiaries. The Arxur did the dirty work, then the primates swooped in to conquer the planet. It was exactly what I predicted to Arjun; Terrans would replicate their subjugation practices from Earth, if given the chance.

Was Nishtal being forced into the predators’ empire at this moment? Were Krakotl citizens enslaved to serve the power-hungry humans? I wasn’t sure if that was a worse fate than the Arxur finishing us off. At least it would send a message to the galaxy, that Terrans hadn’t changed a bit.

Humanity needs damage control. This Harchen would know what to say to prey allies, better than a predator could guess at.

Perhaps this Cilany figure achieved preferential treatment by aiding Earth’s propaganda efforts. It wasn’t clear what else a reporter could offer. I couldn’t believe she would sell her own planet out so easily. The Harchen established her camera setup, before turning to me.

Cilany tilted her head. “Captain Kalsim. How are you doing?”

“Been better. The humans never plan on giving me that farcical trial, and it wouldn’t matter if they did,” I grumbled.

“Actually, your trial is scheduled for later this week. Humanity’s Federation allies agreed to listen to your case alongside predator judges…and they got a Venlil lawyer for you. It’s expected to be an easy conviction, though. Regardless of sympathy for Earth, you sentenced your own planets to death too.”

“So you’re here to slander me in the court of public opinion.”

“No. I’m working on a story analyzing the Kolshians’ first victims, and I couldn’t think of a better POW to get a quote from. After recent events, do you stand by your infamous comparison between predators and viruses?”

“I’m sorry? The Kolshians’ first victims? I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m not interested in a hit piece on the Commonwealth.”

The reporter’s eyes widened. “Wait, the humans haven’t told you? About Nikonus’ confession?”

I tossed my beak in a noncommittal gesture, and Cilany reached for her holopad. The words I told Manoj and the Terran internet, regarding humanity’s infectious potential, stood the test of time. Predators’ higher functions were inadequate against all-encompassing bloodlust; it wasn’t their fault for caving to their wiring. What information could make me recant the truth?

The Harchen slid a holopad over to me, with a video clip cued up. The Kolshian presider was a familiar countenance on screen. The wrinkles on his gelatinous features likened him to a pruned berry. Why was Secretary-General Zhao listening in, and baring his teeth as I watched? I didn’t understand what the purpose of politics was to me, from a jail cell.

My mistrust of the reporter was growing, but this was my first social interaction in weeks. If I didn’t play along for a bit, the humans would toss me back in an empty cell. My gaze shifted down to the holopad, and I decided to listen. Even from prison, I could still perform my duty to refute predatory narratives.

Nikonus recounted the Federation’s origin tale briefly, from his aquarium-lined office on Aafa. He only mentioned the Farsul’s role, at first. Cilany chimed in with the third founding species: the Krakotl. The Kolshian indulged in a long-winded response, and clarified why my kind were a problem.

“…ill-equipped for spacefaring. We learned they were scavengers, who would occasionally go for fish as well.”

Shock coursed through my veins, and I struggled to suppress an emotional response. The leader’s statement didn’t seem coerced; there were no signs of human presence in the footage. If anything, Nikonus’ tone was smug and gloating, a wholly authentic admission. The talons that I used for grasping objects took on a darker appearance.

The horror intensified its assault; eating meat conflicted with every value in my psyche. The Kolshian wouldn’t stop speaking, as much as I wanted his words to cease. He proclaimed that the Krakotl were threatened into submission, before a genetic cure was distributed. The Farsul States’ work was thorough too, with revisions to history, fossil records, and education.

How could that statement be true? My life was dedicated to wiping predators off the face of Nishtal. Bloodlust never fogged my mind, even when dealing with abhorrent creatures. Killing clung to my conscience with a heavy grip, and I hated the necessity of my profession.

“Kalsim!” Cilany hissed. “You look like you’re going to be sick. Do you need a minute?”

I flapped my wings with discomfort. “N-no. I, um, can’t imagine Krakotl as…predators. But it’s wrong to hate a creature for existing, like I always said. If we were born that way, it’s no more our fault than it is for the humans…”

“You’re not angry with Nikonus?”

“I find their success impressive. If co-existence with us was improbable, the Kolshians did the right thing. It wasn’t personal…it was necessary. T-they avoided the unpleasantry of killing a sapient species.”

Zhao crossed his arms in the background, and his expression hardened. I puffed out my feathers, trying to swallow the nausea. It didn’t compute with my brain that Krakotl were like the humans. I should be grateful to the Kolshians, for saving me from squandering my sapience.

My musings turned to what I had done to Earth, not knowing there was a viable alternative. Chief Nikonus should’ve told us the truth sooner. Throughout the battle, my conscience had wrestled with non-lethal solutions to the Terran menace. Preserving the positive aspects of their culture was on my mind from the beginning.

Predators or not, the humans aren’t all bad. But I thought such a vicious history mandated their extinction.

It broke my heart to realize that bombing Terran civilians could’ve been avoided. Humanity should’ve been offered the cure, which took bloodthirsty instincts out of the equation. What if humans could be herbivores? We didn’t need to eradicate them, if a conversion was negotiated.

Tears streamed down my face, at the scale of the unnecessary death. Arjun and Manoj haunted my thoughts. The father suppressed its instincts out of affection for the child. Was that not a sliver of good? Was that not proof that humans could have been saved…and could have made the right choice?

Guilt tightened my throat. “I’m sorry, humans. Killing your people was never something I wanted to do. I wish I knew…I would’ve given you the option to take the cure. I just didn’t realize there was another option for dealing with predators.”

“The humans came in peace in their natural state, Kalsim,” Cilany said. “That was the other option.”

“D-do they really want peace? Then…listen Zhao, your people could still take the cure, and end this. You could be rid of your sordid appetite, for good. Prove you won’t be a t-threat…or relapse.”

“I don’t need to be cured of my culture and personality.” Zhao’s growl was measured, and he waved to the guards to return me to my cell. “But thanks for asking.”

The chain yanked at my ankle, and for the first time in weeks, I resisted. An extermination officer understood that predators killed by nature. In a human’s addled state, this ‘Secretary-General’ didn’t want to relinquish his hunting prowess. I had the chance to make him see how much better off the Krakotl were post-conversion.

I wasn’t born solely to spread death anymore. The Kolshians’ medicine granted us a purpose, and a chance at developing values. The Krakotl Alliance owed the precursors a thousand years of true civilization…of survival. To return to our predatory past would mean being nothing but beasts.

“Take the cure! The Venlil would want you to do it! Who wants to be a predator anyways? Are you scared of being ruled by compassion?!” I squawked.

Zhao bared his teeth. “You’re the one scared of your own shadow. Of simply being yourself…your natural self. It‘s actually sad.”

“Your natural self is an instrument of death! Your depravity is a menace to the galactic community. It’s why you’re a pawn to the Arxur! YOU NEED TO REPENT!”

“Goodbye, Kalsim. We’ll see you in court.”

The UN soldiers dragged me across the floor, and I screeched in protest. If there was a chance at saving the predators, they needed to give themselves a chance. All we asked was to conform to standards of decency, and pull their better side to the forefront.

Cilany’s camera had filmed my desperate plea, at least. I hoped some human viewers were more reasonable than Zhao. This was likely the last the public would hear from me; I knew my trial would conclude with a harsh execution. Death would be welcome, as opposed to remaining in the Terrans’ custody.

For the unnecessary genocide of a species, without exhausting other options, execution was an apt punishment. I had tried to show the Terrans mercy, but I hadn’t shown them the mercy that was gifted to my kind. In hindsight, the raid was a mistake.

Other Krakotl might think of us as predators still, but Terran sadism was beneath our modern sensibilities. There was nothing to be ashamed of, in breaking the shackles of bloodlust. My heart ached solely for Earth, knowing that my cleansing had been misguided. We had more in common with the primates than even I thought.

Then again, if the humans would reject help, maybe they deserved the fate they’d been given. The Kolshians and the Farsul were experts in conversions, right? Nikonus would’ve intervened in our raid, had a cure been a possibility. The Farsul outright participated in our strike; there had to be a reason for that.

Simply put, a Terran’s ‘good side’ must not exist in large enough quantities to salvage. The truth wasn’t always an easy pill to swallow.